


give me a boy, and i’ll make him a king

by guilty_heroes



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Dark, F/F, F/M, God!Percy, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Post-TLO, The Great Prophecy (Percy Jackson), long fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-17 10:48:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29470443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guilty_heroes/pseuds/guilty_heroes
Summary: Annabeth drags Percy out of the burning ruin of Olympos for his sixteenth birthday, and she thinks that’s enough of a gift.She hadn’t expected to win. The gods were clearly running out of time. She just didn’t expect for Kronos to lose too.In the aftermath of Percy’s sixteenth birthday, Annabeth and Percy are forced to navigate a world in which the gods don’t exist and where the West is falling apart.
Relationships: Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson, Clarisse La Rue/Chris Rodriguez
Comments: 44
Kudos: 124





	1. Teaser

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sophiemwrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophiemwrites/gifts).
  * Inspired by [your lips, my lips (apocalypse)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23540722) by [sophiemwrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophiemwrites/pseuds/sophiemwrites). 



> I wrote a chapter of this work at like 1 am, sent it over to [Starlinks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlinks/pseuds/starlinks), who promptly told me to make this into a fic and then grilled me about this random ass chapter I wrote at 1 in the morning with only a slight plot created in my head.
> 
> I agreed to make the rest of the fic, if only to stop being harassed, and so here we are.
> 
> Technically, I have had the idea for this fic floating around in my head for a while now, mostly thanks to [The Ezra Klein Show](https://open.spotify.com/show/6NOJ6IkTb2GWMj1RpmtnxP?si=NOtdIgasSLKrJFL8_PmJ4g) and everything I’ve learned from those amazing discussions. This is most heavily influenced by [the discussion](https://open.spotify.com/episode/4CrWFGtjinPrL9OGlssLXa?si=KQ0eVQdVRuSsQd0Q8Cxbdg) he had with Ross Douthat, concerning American decadence and the idea of civilizations’ decadent declines. 
> 
> It’s also influenced by a conversation Starlinks and I had back when we were writing Song of Perseus, discussing the idea of how interesting it could be to change the Luke and Percy dynamic. Instead of Percy fighting to preserve a good order, Percy is an agent fighting against a changing of the guard. This isn’t as dramatic, but it works along the idea that the gods should not have won, or that Percy’s victory was only postponing the inevitable fall of a decadent civilization. 
> 
> Totally _not_ applicable to our current times at all.
> 
> This one is going to be heavy in themes and political implications, so strap y’allselves in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just a teaser. Sorry not sorry.

_the girl_

Blackjack lets her down on the opposite side of the island. Even Blackjack is freaked out by Percy in this place.

Not Annabeth.

She’s been scared of him many times in the last eight years. But she’s never felt the need to back away, to run, to tear her own eyes out in a desperate bid to forget what she had seen. 

Like Rachel had.

Blackjack takes off without so much as a request for donuts or sugarcubes.

“Percy.”

He’s sitting, his feet in the freezing water, butt in the sand. He’s wearing his old camp t-shirt. Riptide stands, uncapped, hilt sticking out of the ground. The exposed blade is dirty with dried blood.

“Hi Wise Girl.”

He’s half his age, a scared twelve year old boy staring out into the Pacific, adrift having lost his mother. 

Annabeth sits down next to him. There’s a heartbeat, then another, before Annabeth pulls his much-smaller frame into hers. He doesn’t cry. Percy hasn’t cried in eight years. Neither of them are sure if still he can or not. He still feels so much. But it’s not the same.

Annabeth strokes his hair. When he’s like this, Annabeth can pretend that he’s really 12, that she’s giving him the comfort he needed back then, that she should have given him. 

“My sweet boy.”

The sun is setting on them. Soon, it will be too cold to handle, and pre-teen Percy is not half as good as adult Percy at generating body heat.

“I just want to feel mortal again.”

She doesn’t say anything to that. 

“I just want to feel vulnerable again.”

Still, she keeps silent.

“I just want to feel like I can lose again.”

“I thought I was your mortal spot.”

“You are.”

“Do you not feel that way with me?”

Percy shakes his head against her shoulder. He traces a scar on her calf. “Not in a long time, Annabeth.”

“How do you feel around me, then?”

“You know the answer.”

“I want to see it. One more time.”

Twelve-year-old Percy Jackson nods, picking his head up to look into her eyes. Twelve-year-old Percy Jackson gazes in and searches, before twelve-year-old Percy Jackson gets up and walks into the frigid Alaskan waters. Twelve-year-old disappears from her view, like he had all those years ago at Santa Monica.

Twelve-year-old Percy Jackson has been dead for a long time.

The Percy that walks back out of the water is not twelve. He looks twenty-four. He’s not. Not really.

He’s got a foot plus on his younger counterpart. He’s probably about twice or three times as broad. His dark hair is no longer just messy. His green eyes aren’t as scared. Silver waves dance across his body. Gold bands, as much a part of him as his scars, circle his wrists, ankles, and neck. 

And gold flows through his veins.

Annabeth watches him with hooded eyes. “My Lord.”

He flinches. “Annabeth.” It’s not a warning. He’s pleading.

“Percy,” she concedes.

He reaches out a hand to cup underneath her chin, tilting her head up. Annabeth reaches up to grab at his forearm. Just to hold him.

She feels the ichor flowing through the powerful muscle. Tries to live in the moment, because tomorrow is a new day.

One more day for Percy to slip further away. One less day she has with the dream of a scared twelve-year-old Percy Jackson.

Annabeth wonders what Rachel saw. 

After all, Annabeth is only seeing what she wants to see. 


	2. Arc I: Annabeth I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> τὸν ὕστερον ἀφίξονται. - The next will come.  
> φυλάττειν - to preserve  
> ἤ διαπέρθειν - or to raze  
> ἡ κατάρα ἀκὴ θερίσεις - the cursed blade shall reap  
> [Recommended Song](https://open.spotify.com/track/5EKqsMU2tn1iAYNQF8h0ll?si=4FpZBhCNTv-Fq0f2N-M9Iw).

_the girl_

Annabeth drags Percy out of the burning ruin of Olympos for his sixteenth birthday, and she thinks that’s enough of a gift. She had had a plan, on the off-chance that he survived, to get him something more. She doesn’t think that’s in the cards any more.

He’s alive, she’s alive, and Kronos is no more.

But they didn’t win.

_I’m sorry, truly. I knew it was doomed. I had to._

Percy was unconscious at the end. So were Thalia and Grover. Well, Grover might not have been. She hadn’t seen him while she was dragging Percy out. Annabeth feels guilty for leaving Thalia there. She thinks Thalia will understand. They both knew that Thalia’s place of prominence in Annabeth’s heart was long gone.

Annabeth sets down the boy that means too much to her against a wall. She leans his head carefully against the wall. He’s not dead, not yet at least.

He _is_ losing too much blood, though. The rivers are too far away. She can’t drag him there.

Annabeth screams in frustration. Her throat is already raw and the scream drags itself out of her throat by its claws.

Part of her hopes a god will hear.

τὸν ὕστερον ἀφίξονται.

Kronos’ repeated phrase echoes in the wind.

Annabeth knows. She just can’t admit it yet. Even though it was always so fucking obvious. The prophecy had ended with his name. πέρθειν. The Iron Age was done.

Annabeth could give in right now. Accept Fate. But Annabeth Chase was never one to give in. She scans the area and finds a hot dog cart about a block away. It would mean leaving Percy alone and unguarded.

φυλάττειν.

So much for that.

Annabeth surveys the area again. Rubble from the Empire State Building has crushed everything in sight. She hopes their forces have moved out of the way long before the destruction reached the surface.

Annabeth doesn’t wonder how the cart survived, out of everything.

 _An electric blue string. A sea-green string. A storm-cloud grey string. Hanging by a thread over an amphora of gold_.

ἡ κατάρα ἀκὴ θερίσεις.

Annabeth sprints to the cart. It doesn’t take long, but Annabeth feels like this is the point in the horror movie when the murderer appears. No monsters are appearing in their horror movie, but that doesn’t make her any less cautious. There’s not even a split second between grabbing three water bottles and dashing back to Percy.

Annabeth unloads one bottle over his head, one on his wound, and throws one in his face. It works to close the impossible wound. Like always, Annabeth watches in amazement as his muscle stitches itself back together.

It doesn’t wake him up.

She hadn’t expected it to, Annabeth just needed Percy’s ψυχή to have a σῶμα to return to.

Annabeth needs the salt and the sea.

_A storm-cloud grey string. Hanging by a thread over an amphora of gold._

The flying chariot soars over the rubble. Clarisse lands. Or the pegasoi do. With the way the pegasoi were desperately following Blackjack, it’s obvious she’s only along for the ride.

“You better have a fucking good explanation, Chase.”

Clarisse had left Lamer on the chariot. But that did not make her any less violent. Just less lethal. 

“I need to get him into the ocean.”

“I don’t see why that’s my problem.”

“I need your chariot.”

“Like you needed my brothers and sisters? Only to fail.”

“We didn’t fail.”

“They’re _gone_.”

“ἤ διαπέρθειν.”

Clarisse doesn’t even blink. Annabeth knows Clarisse understands. She always understood more than she let on.

“ἡ κατάρα ἀκὴ θερίσεις,” Clarisse shoots back.

“He wasn’t the hero.”

“Then why is he dying.” It’s not a question.

“Clarisse,” and even though it’s almost a beg, Clarisse’s expression doesn’t slip up. “The Fates showed me his string, hanging by a thread.”

“There are a lot of dying demigods.”

“And how many more of them will die if Percy dies?”

Clarisse’s only acknowledgement is a terse nod and movement towards Percy. The two girls lift him up and carry him to the chariot. “I’m glad you two are alive.”

“I’m glad you’re alive,” Annabeth replies as they load Percy into the chariot. “Is Chris alive?”

“He is. Thigh injury, but he’ll walk it off.” Clarisse grabs the reins and the chariot leaps into the sky at a breakneck pace, faster than Annabeth thought possible. Even the pegasoi knew.

“I’m sorry about Silena.”

Annabeth doesn’t hear her response over the winds. She doesn’t need to. _So am I._

Annabeth prays for the dead and for those about to die. Something tells her Hades has survived.

Over the Atlantic, Annabeth kisses Percy’s forehead.

She thinks back to what Clarisse said to her. Contrary to what Ares’ daughter assumed, Annabeth isn’t sure if she’s fighting Fate or doing their bidding. But either way, Annabeth had planned to bury Percy like this. She would burn a shroud and throw his body into the sea. She couldn’t stand the idea of Percy’s body just disappearing into ash and dust. She still can’t.

Annabeth pushes him off the chariot.

She doesn’t know who to pray to. So she just prays to the Fates and that pot of liquid gold.

Annabeth and Clarisse jump off the chariot at their new camp, at battery park.

Malcolm runs up to her and gives her a much bigger hug than she had ever received from any of her siblings. “Thank the gods you’re okay,” he sobs into her shoulder. Annabeth unfreezes slowly and awkwardly pats his back.

“Yeah, you too, little brother.”

“Mom’s gone.”

 _Mom_. “I know.”

“What are we going to do?”

“We’re going to wait for Percy to get back.”

It’s Malcolm’s turn to freeze up. “But he –”

Annabeth cuts him off, tired of her siblings inability to look past a stupid feud. “Don’t talk about things you don’t understand.”

“Sorry.”

Annabeth pulls away from him with a nod. “We’re all we have left, Malcolm. Percy may not have saved the gods, but he saved us.”

“I-” Malcolm pauses. “I’m not trying to be rude when I say this Annabeth, but what good is living without the order the gods provide?”

“Malcolm,” Annabeth sighs, because she can’t deal with it, “ _please_. I can’t think about that right now.” Percy’s deep in the sea and Annabeth can’t do anything, can’t think, until he’s next to her, safe and sound. 

“Do you want to hear about the fallout?”

She shakes her head. “Once Percy gets back. We’ll debrief then.”

“Okay. We lost a lot of bodies.”

Annabeth stares at the row of medical tents, the dead bodies piling up outside. It smells like shit and medical alcohol. 

“We’ll –” Annabeth pauses. She was about to say _we’ll recuperate_ but stops herself because they’ve lost their source of soldiers. “We’ll have to get extra vigilant about finding current demigods. But we’ll survive. We always have.”

“Not all of them are gone.”

“Malcolm,” Annabeth says, “no amount of Enyo kids are ever going to equal a Thalia, much less a Percy, barely even one of us.”

“Thalia’s gone?”

Annabeth doesn’t even flinch. She’s proud of herself. “Maybe. Probably.”

“Are you okay?”

Annabeth stares out at the Hudson.

“I will be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so it begins. Hope you all are enjoying! Please leave some kudos and comments, and don’t forget to _smash that subscribe button_!
> 
> QotC: Which string is Percy’s?
> 
> Published 2/17/2021


	3. Chiron I, Percy I

_the centaur_  
The air shifts sometime around mid-afternoon. 

It’s barely noticeable, but for a being who remembers what it was like before the gods, Chiron can sense it. The winds trade in their control for speed. 

He can sense ‘it’. He can’t make sense of ‘it’. This was not supposed to happen. There was no one – is no one – to take over. The gods had no successors. 

Father is gone too, but this isn’t a surprise to Chiron. The timing of it, yes. But History does not repeat itself.

Father knew that.

That, more than anything else in this war, has stumped him. Why was Father doing this? And, with him gone, does it even matter?

Chiron is old enough to know it does.

Waiting for him at the camp boundary is Rachel Elizabeth Dare and a frantic looking pegasus. _Blackjack_ , Chiron thinks after a moment. Young Perseus’ steed. 

“Miss Dare.”

“I need to get to the Oracle. Now.”

Once upon a time, Chiron would have admired her direct speech. He’s older now, and it grates. When you live for thousands of years, one learns that these processes don’t require the urgency they think it does.

Chiron doesn’t blame them. He wishes they could live for thousands of years. 

Or that he could stop.

“You shall. When did you leave the city?”

The mortal girl only glares at him. “I don’t have time to talk.”

“We shall have time on our walk.” Chiron gives her permission. “ἐγὼ, Χείρων ὁ κένταυρος, Rachel Elizabeth Dare καλῶ εἰς Στρατόπεδον Ἡμὶ-Αἷμα.”

Rachel steps through the barrier.

“I’m assuming you know what you are doing?”

Rachel shakes her head. “But I know the consequences if I fail.”

Chiron looks up to the attic. The shrieks aren’t disturbing anyone. Not even the youngest campers remained.

Chiron will be pleasantly surprised if any have survived at all. He allows himself to pray that the youngest were kept out of premature graves. He prays to beings older than the gods. 

“It’s bad.”

“The Oracle? Or New York?”

“Well, they’re connected, aren’t they?”

“I’m assuming the Thrones went with the gods.”

“They went before.” That’s not what Chiron had meant, but he accepts the roundabout answer.

“And the children?”

“Thalia didn’t make it. Nico did. Percy might.”

“What about the rest?”

“I didn’t stay for a body count. There were more bodies than body bags though.”

That doesn’t give away much. There were only so many body bags they could purchase before it got suspicious.

The Oracle screeches again and the attic window shatters.

“Let’s go,” Rachel orders with the finality of a girl who has gotten everything she had ever wanted. Chiron trods behind her grudgingly.

The Oracle has ransacked the attic. Every prize is on the floor, surrounded by shattered glass. Every table is cleaved down the middle. Every chair is missing at least one leg.

The Oracle wastes no time when they enter. The mummy shrieks at them. With her rags flowing around her, tangled in green mist, her jaw bone rattling around on the floor, Chiron admits he is afraid.

Rachel is not.

The girl stares defiantly at the creature.

“I’m here to help.”

“σὺ οὐ δύνασαι ὠφελεῖν!” the Oracle shrieks back in Ancient Greek.

“What did she say?”

“That you cannot help now.” Chiron fails to realize that she is not fluent in Greek. And why should she be? He hasn’t dealt with many mortals in situations like this.

“Why not?” Rachel sounds frustrated. Chiron assumes the girl had recently accepted this fate and to be denied it now is a new experience.

But it’s not fate denying her.

“ὁ Ἀπόλλωνος θρόνος ἀνέρρει. ἄνευ αὐτοῦ, προφητεία ἀναλασσέται καὶ ἀλωστέα ἐστί σοι.”

Every word is pronounced differently, at different volumes and different octanes, coming from different places in the room. The Oracle is barely even connected to the mummy any more.

“Apollo’s throne is gone,” Chiron translates. “Without it, the power of prophecy has been set free and must be seized.”

“How can we get it back?” 

Chiron wishes he could admire her persistence. 

The Oracle outright hates it. She shrinks into a ball in the corner. Her wrappings swirl around her, a tornado of cloth and regret.

“οὐκ οἶδα.”

“She doesn’t know.” Chiron watches the mummy with sad eyes. Just another victim Chiron couldn’t help. “But I have an idea. Come with me, Miss Dare.”

* * *

_the boy_

In his dream, Percy is being dragged across the floor of the Throne Room by Luke. 

“You betrayed us,” Luke cries out as he throws Percy against Poseidon’s throne. “We were your family, and you sided with Kronos against us!”

When Percy laughs, it’s not his voice. It’s Kronos’.

“This was all necessary, don’t you see?”

“I only see a traitor!” Luke raises his sword above his head. And it comes down on Percy, slicing his head off.

  
  


Percy wakes up underwater for the second time in as many weeks. But this time, he’s not in Atlantis. In fact, he’s not entirely sure _where_ he is.

Well, he does know the GPS coordinates and his position relative to New York. But he doesn’t _really_ know where he is.

_New York._

Gods.

 _Annabeth_.

The last thing Percy remembered was Luke driving the knife into his own armpit while Percy was bleeding out, losing himself to Kronos’ blade. He doesn’t even know if Luke was right, if Kronos is gone. He doesn’t know how _he’s_ alive. Shouldn’t his soul be reaped? 

Percy knows Asphodel. This is not it. 

If he’s not dead, then they have lost. Kronos has won. Luke had failed. 

Then was Annabeth okay? How had he gotten here? What was going on in the City? What had happened with Typhoon? Was Annabeth okay?

“All good questions.”

Percy spins around, searching for a human to pin the voice to. Despite turning a full three-sixty, Percy finds nothing human. Or even alive. 

“You see with your eyes.”

“Yeah,” Percy snorts. _Who the fuck says shit like that?_ “That’s what you’re supposed to do.”

“Even down here? How do you see the currents? With your eyes?”

Percy pauses because, yeah, he had always assumed his eyes were sensing the currents. Just not in technicolor.

“Reach out and _feel_ the water. Don’t see it.”

That makes sense. After all, his connection to the water was far more than liking the aesthetics of it. Percy closes his eyes and _reaches_. The water responds to him easier than it ever has. He wonders if it has to do with the destruction of Poseidon’s throne. Percy is connecting with the water in a way he never has before.

And now he feels the water voiding around an entity in front of him.

“What are you?” Percy’s eyes snap open, but the entity remains invisible to him. He feels him still, but with his eyes open, the connection is more tenuous. 

“Pontus.”

Percy racks his brain for who that is. He knows, he swears, it’s just been a day. A week. A month. A fucking lifetime. “You’re the… uh –”

“I’m the –”

“–no! I’ve got it. You’re the primordial.”

Percy feels a surge of pride when the primordial nods his head. “Good.”

“Why are you here?”

“To talk with you,” Pontus says, like it’s the only obvious answer.

“Yes,” because it is an obvious answer. After all, it’s what they were doing. It still doesn’t make sense. “But about what?”

“You should know what happened above the waves.”

“You’re appearing now to… debrief me?”

“To debrief you about things your mortal friends cannot understand.”

Except for Annabeth. She’d understand. Percy doesn’t voice that thought. He does notice the present tense. Percy lets out a sigh of relief. They’re alive. 

_For now_.

“What do you know?”

“I know that any Olympian with a Throne, any god fighting Typhoon is gone.”

Percy freezes. That was – Percy knew that the thrones were gone. He had seen them torn to shreds when they had first entered the throne room. But that the gods too… Percy is having trouble processing that the driving forces in his life for the last four years are just _gone_.

Even if he knows that they have to be, if Percy is alive. 

So Percy moves on, for now. He needs Annabeth if he’s going to really deal with this. 

“What happened to Kronos?”

“The Hermes child scattered his essence too.”

“So…” Percy trails off. “What’s – what’s left?”

“You.”

Percy remembers all those feelings of people whispering behind his back. Of Chris saying “ _the son of Poseidon! He’s horrible!_ ” This feels like that. People have feared him his entire life. But not the people who he _needed_ to fear him. Not Gabe. Not any one of the dozens of bullies he had dealt with. But his friends had feared him. People he had wanted to save feared him. 

It’s just another weight on his shoulders. Another weight he can’t hold up much longer.

“I’m just a demigod.”

“With Poseidon and Triton gone –”

“–Triton too?–”

“–you are next in line.”

“For what, a throne? Where are we, England?”

Pontus doesn’t laugh, but in the primordial’s defense, it wasn’t that funny. Percy’s just nervous. His relationship with his father was always strained, but looking back on it, he thinks Poseidon liked Percy at the very least. His death hurts more than it should. And the “next in line” comment is yet another weight building on his shoulders. 

“Not for a throne. For the Seas.”

“I- what?”

“The Seas. Their power. It will be yours.”

“Will be? How? What even–”

“With time. And I am sorry.”

“Sorry? For what?”

But Pontus is already gone.

Percy doesn’t care. He screams into the abyss. “For what? How do I take this stupid fucking throne that’s not a throne?” 

“Answer me!” No response from the seas. Struggling to maintain control, Percy whimpers. “Please.”

With the continued silence, Percy wonders where all of the noise has gone. Then he notices there’s not a single sea creature within maybe a mile. 

ὁ υἱός Ποσειδῶνος! ἐστὶ δεινός!

He worries that it wasn’t Pontus keeping them away.

Percy remembers that his soul was supposed to be wrenched from his body. Why it hasn’t, Percy decides to not worry about yet. Maybe he can hash it out with Annabeth. She’ll make sense of it.

If she’s okay.

The thought alone gives him the strength to bend the currents to his will and propel himself to New York.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone’s enjoying! If you are, please make sure to leave a kudo and/or a comment! It really does mean a lot.
> 
> QotC: Why do y’all think Pontus appeared as a void of water?
> 
> Published 2/19/2021


	4. Nico I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Occurs between Chiron I and Percy I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Occurs between Chiron I and Percy I

_ the son _

The blade hums, a soothing noise, in his hands.

It’s nothing like Stygian Iron, which sits with unease in his young palm. Stygian Iron wants you to know what you’re doing is cruel. 

_ Backbiter _ wants you to feel  _ good _ killing.

This must be how Luke fell so far.

Nico looks out at the rubble of New York. He’s seen these pictures before. 

The buildings, all caved-in walls and shattered windows, if they’re still standing at all, are the most impressive monuments to the destruction. 

But it’s the dead that are the most numerous. Nico had shadow-traveled right in front of the ruin of the Empire State Building. That left him standing on top of a pile of rubble and the ability to see about four blocks down before there’s another fallen building in the way. 

All he can see are the dead.

It’s all he could ever see.

They don’t scare him. They don’t frighten him. The dead have nothing to hide from him.

He does hate them.

Nico kicks a piece of rubble. 

_ MAMA! MAMA!  _

Nico watches a ten-year old boy run down the streets of a ruined city. 

He turns away. 

Kronos’ blade was stupid easy to find. Sitting, trapped, underneath the marble stones of a throne – Nico’s never been to Olympus, so he doesn’t know which one –  _ Backbiter _ sings its song of sweet death. 

It is obvious no one has been back here yet. 

Not that Nico expected anyone to have been. It’s barely been an hour since Annabeth threw Percy in the ocean.  _ Like a fool. _ She should have taken Percy to him. 

He would’ve saved him.

He already has.

_ Backbiter _ sings louder.

Nico turns and watches the kid. He’s getting closer, waving at Nico for help. 

_ MAMA! MAMA! _

To this day, Nico doesn’t know what killed her. He thinks Hades is lying to him. A lot of bombs fell that day.

The boy climbs the rubble with the grace of a child who has lost everything. “Have you seen my mother?” the boy cries. He has black hair. And big green eyes. They’re not as pretty as Percy’s, but Nico thinks they could grow to be.

_ Backbiter _ breaks into a soprano crescendo. 

“No.” 

Nico raises the sword.  _ Backbiter  _ falsettos with glee.

_ An eye for an eye.  _ _ Future for the Past. _

His father is a cruel god.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter, but it’s a necessary one to establish Nico’s character.
> 
> Also, no more 4 chapter weeks. Sorry, can’t write that much when I’m not on vacation. Maybe 2 max. 
> 
> QotC: Why did Zeus make it so obvious he killed Maria to Nico and Bianca? Never made any sense to me. 
> 
> _Published 2/21/21_


	5. Annabeth II

The whole camp waits with bated breath for Percy to return.

Even the Ares and Athena cabins keep glancing to the water for his return. 

Annabeth herself can’t stop staring at the water. She’s sitting on a bench, watching the river flow into the bay. Hoping that something will flow back into the river. 

“Thalia didn’t make it out?”

Annabeth can’t wrench her eyes from the river. Nico sits down next to her, not really looking like he expected a big song and dance over his arrival. 

“I don’t know.”

The kid mirrors her, eyes focused on the river. “And Percy was alive when you threw him into the ocean?”

“You make it sound like I dumped his dead body off.”

“He was close.”

“And then he wasn’t.”

“Still, you don’t know if the fall –”

“But I  _ do _ . I won’t sit here and have some backstabbing brat question what I do and do not understand about Percy Jackson.”

Nico keeps quiet. Smartly. “I am sorry, I just felt like –”

“You were stuck on the bargaining phase. I get it. I was there too.”

Nico brings his knees up to his chest. “How did you deal with it?”

“For starters, I didn’t have easy access to the Lord of the Dead.”

“I suppose that helps.”

“A lot easier to not make deals when there’s no one to make deals with.”

A seagull flies overhead.

Annabeth continues. “Luke made deals too. For Thalia.”

“Ironic, isn’t it?”

“Did you feel her pass?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then how did you feel Percy?”

Nico doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have to. Annabeth knows.

“I wish I could have been more of a help.”

“So do I,” Annabeth replies.

Nico glances over at her, showing a strength Annabeth didn’t have. Throughout the entire conversation, all she could think about was Percy. She was on autopilot with Nico.

“Would you make a deal for Percy?”

Annabeth snorts. With anyone else, she would have tried harder than this. But Nico knows. And Annabeth likes him, even though she doesn’t entirely trust him. His youth reminds her of herself. “In an instant.”

“With anyone?”

“For anyone.” Annabeth does him one better. “But I’m not exactly hoping to have to drive that bargain any time soon.”

“I’d help you.”

“I’m sure you would. But I wouldn’t offer, if I were you.”

“Why not?” He looks over at her again. 

“Because I’d accept your offer.”

Nico doesn’t ask what that means. 

“Nico.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s okay.”

“What’s okay?”

“The things you feel. Who you feel them for. No one cares anymore.”

“It certainly feels that way.”

“No one who matters cares.”

Nico gets up. “I’m going to go. I was hoping maybe I’d catch him in the few minutes I was here, but I guess not.”

Annabeth can only nod. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

Nico walks away. When he’s been gone for long enough, Annabeth echoes one of his early moves by pulling her knees to her chest. With her head rested against her knees, Annabeth tries to block out everything else and focus on the movement of the river.

It takes another half-hour for Percy to reappear. By this point, it’s been three hours and the sun is starting to set. Annabeth thinks she could’ve baked him that cupcake in all the time it’s taken him to return. But that would have required her to focus on something other than the water.

She doesn’t think she can take that right now.

When he appears, it’s like she can breathe again. 

His head breaks the water first. He looks ridiculous, like a meerkat peeking out from his prairie hole. He’s scanning the surroundings, trying to figure out if he’s near them. Then Percy sees her. His face lights up. 

It’s a pleasant change from before the war, when the sight of her sent him into a foul mood, or vice-versa. It’s how should be. Percy and Annabeth versus the world. Together, anyone who stood between them and their goals would be crushed. She is the daughter of Athena, the only other deity to weild Zeus’ lightning. He is the son of Poseidon, the Earthshaker and Stormbringer. 

A young Annabeth Chase had thought it should be her and Thalia against the world. It felt natural. Thalia was the daughter of Zeus, and Annabeth is the daughter of Athena, Zeus’ righthand woman. But Percy had changed everything, shifted Annabeth’s worldview. 

Some part of her, the part of her that is still a six-year-old girl, absorbing her father’s talk-shows and prime-time TV and internalizing it, wonders what would have happened if Thalia had been a man.

With a great leap out of the water, Percy bounds over to her. His camp shirt is discarded. Percy’s tanned a bit since entering camp as a pasty twelve-year-old, grown some muscle, and she can see the hardened warrior he’ll become. But now he’s still growing out of his gangly middle-schooler phase, all long arms and legs, muscle visible only because he has no body fat.

Not that Annabeth really cares. Percy’s back. That’s all that matters.

Annabeth’s feet touch the ground and she’s racing off to Percy. He opens up his arms for her and she launches herself into them. Percy feels warm. Which of course he does, it’s August in New York. Percy is a different kind of warm. Like the campfire. Like a warm bed in February. 

“I was so scared.”

Annabeth is surprised he said it first. Because, really, it was on the tip of her tongue.

“So was I.”

“I-I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. You nearly died. I saved your life. Par for the course, right?”

“Right.” He breathes into her hair, since he’s now solidly taller than her. She wants to be aggravated by it. But with the way Percy is holding her now, she can’t be. “We’re okay.”

Annabeth nods into his chest. “Yeah, we are.”

They stay like that for a moment, holding each other at the end of the world. It’s more peaceful than it sounds. Annabeth with her cheek resting against his bare chest, Percy with his arms squeezing her close. He breathes in the scent of her hair, like she doesn’t smell like metallic blood and grime and burnt skin. Annabeth doesn’t know if it’s her skin burnt or someone else’s that was blown onto her at some point.

“We should go to the debriefing.”

“You didn’t have one already?”

She shakes her head against his chest. “I told them to wait for you.”

“I-.” Percy pauses. She knows that he has always felt so out of the loop, so left behind. Of course, this summer, much of that was because he kept skirting his responsibilities to go on dates with Rachel. The thought leaves her feeling bitter. Both because he was being an ass by refusing missions, and because he was refusing time with  _ her _ to be with Rachel.

“So we should get going,” Annabeth adds and tries to pull away from him. He lets her. She doesn’t want him to.

“Annabeth.” When she’s completely pulled out of his arms, Percy reaches for her hand. Annabeth freezes when their fingers connect. “Thank you. That means a lot to me.”

Annabeth blushes at their intertwined hands. With a stabilizing breath, she responds. “Of course, Seaweed Brain.”

Percy gives her an award winning smile. He doesn’t drop their hands. Nor does Annabeth. “Right. Uh.” Percy reaches behind his head with his other hand to scratch his hair. “To camp?”

Annabeth smiles softly at him. “Yeah.” Their hands still connected, she leads the way for him. 

Camp is over the moon when Percy arrives again. There are leaps of joy among the able-bodied, cheers among the wounded, and Annabeth swears even the dead stir. That might be Nico’s influence.

It’s more subdued than it probably should have been. No one is cheering for the victorious hero. They’re simply cheering for their hero, returned from the dead. 

“Perrrrcy!” Grover emerges from the crowd. His arm is in a sling and Annabeth thinks one of his hooves have been clipped, but otherwise he looks alright. Annabeth still feels guilty for leaving him. He shouts “Annabeth!” too, like that’s supposed to be some sort of acceptance for leaving him.

“Hey G-Man!” Percy lets go of her hand and Annabeth feels a stab of jealousy towards Grover. Which she knows is irrational, but she had just gotten him back. The two boys go in for one of those handshake-to-hug things that boys do.

“I feel so bad,” Grover cries into Percy’s shoulder. The satyr swaps out that boy hug for a real hug. With his arms around Percy’s back and his head on Percy’s shoulder, the small satyr cries. “I left you guys there!”

“Uh–” Percy looks as startled as she was when Malcolm hugged her. He glances over Grover’s shoulder at her for support.

Annabeth rolls her eyes.

_ Seaweed Brain _ .

“Grover, it’s okay.” Annabeth feels more relieved than anything. She’s not sure who left whom first, but she is assuming it was Grover. “We all got out, didn’t we?”

“Not Thalia,” Grover sobs. Annabeth lets her heart break a little. “Not Luke.”

Annabeth knew Grover had felt as betrayed by Luke as she had. Annabeth didn’t realize Grover had also wished to save his old charge. 

But she doesn’t show anything on the outside. Grover might be able to breakdown. She doesn’t think she can.

“Everyone has a time, Grover.”

“Thalia didn’t make it?”

Annabeth can’t meet Percy’s eyes. She’s too afraid he knows. “We should go to the debriefing.”

“Right.”

The command tent is crowded. There are centaurs, huntresses, and cabin heads, some hastily elected by a vote of spear butts beating against the ground. The whole tent smells like blood and sweat and death, a scent that is more than just the easily identifiable scents of shit and antiseptic. Until Percy walks in, bringing the sea breeze with him. It washes out the grime, cleaning out the place.

“Took you long enough, Jackson.” Clarisse is tending to Chris’ injuries. Annabeth sees Travis in here too. Did he need Chris to replace Connor? Or was Chris here for Clarisse?

“How long was I?”

“Three hours,” Malcolm replies, here on his own behalf, as their lead intelligence officer. “At least from the time Annabeth and Clarisse dropped you into the sea.”

“Oh.” He takes a look at Clarisse and Annabeth thinks something like a silent  _ thank you _ and  _ you owe me, Jackson _ passes between them. “How long since the gods… you know. Went poof.”

“You know about the gods?” Who could have told him?

“Someone told me about it.”

“Who?”

Percy looks down at the map of New York. “Don’t we normally debrief chronologically?”

Annabeth concedes the point. “Then I’ll start. When we were up on Olympos, Percy made his choice. He gave my knife to Luke. Luke used the knife to kill himself, and with him, Kronos.”

“If Kronos is gone,” Will Solace, elected with a near-unanimous vote, but that didn’t mean much because there were only ten Apollo campers left. “Then why are the gods gone too?”

It’s Percy who answers. “Pontus said something to me, something about how, with their thrones gone, the gods were vulnerable to Typhoon’s last bout of strength. He thinks Typhoon scattered the gods.”

“But not all of them were fighting him,” Will insists. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“Wait, Pontus? Like Pontus the Primordial?”

Percy avoids her gaze. Something had happened. Pontus had said something. Something he’s not going to spill here. “Uh, yeah. Anyways, point is, they’re not all gone, I don’t think. Pontus just said the ones whose thrones were destroyed and the ones fighting Typhoon.”

“That’s most of the major ones, then.” Malcolm. The rest of the Athena cabin acts like Annabeth once did with Percy. She is so sick of it. “Not simply ‘just the ones.’”

“I’m just repeating what I was told.” 

“You’re good at that, aren’t you?”

“What are you even implying?” Annabeth feels the temperature in the room hike, somehow, considering the body heat they’re all generating is already enough to equal the hot August heat.

“Figure it out yourself. Or is that –”

“Enough.” Annabeth emphasizes her point by jamming her dagger into the map table. “Malcolm, remember what I told you.”

Malcolm scowls at Percy but he nods anyways. “Yeah, yeah. So the major gods are gone.”

“And where does that leave the West?” Katie Gardner is nervously picking at her dirty fingernails. “Aren’t the gods supposed to anchor the West? If they’re gone, what does that mean for us?”

“War.” Clarisse doesn’t even sound happy about it. “Russia’s invaded the Baltic states.”

“ _ What _ ? It’s been three hours, how is Russia even  _ connected _ to this?”

“Because America  _ is  _ the West, for better or for worse.” Annabeth crosses her arms and glares at the spot on the map where the Empire State Building is supposed to go. “And now with the Gods gone, I’m sure everyone  _ feels _ America is weak and vulnerable, even if no one knows why.”

“Well, there are some tangible reasons.” Annabeth looks over at Malcolm. “New York was just hit by what mortals are calling a multi-tornado event and a hurricain at the same time.” Everyone in the room stares at Percy, who shifts on his feet and looks down. 

“I’m assuming stocks are doing great.” Everyone laughs with Jake. It’s a running joke at camp that out of all the useless things mortals have invented, the stock market is the most useless thing. Annabeth doesn’t entirely agree, the stock market has its benefits, but it᾽s a good joke. It also feels good to laugh.

Malcolm, however, is not laughing. This is why Annabeth wanted to wait for a debriefing. No one was ever happy once they knew the truth. Annabeth is already unhappy enough. “No, not at all. So, once again, the American economy is collapsing. Protests are breaking out across the States. It’s not peaceful.”

This is worse than she thought.  _ What good is living without the order the gods provide? _

“Think there’ll be a new Confederacy?” Will laughs. “Between this and that gay marriage push, we might see the end of America.”

“Annabeth’ll probably join them, right  _ Anna Elizabeth _ ?”

Annabeth turns to glare at Percy, because  _ really _ ? He’s going to make that joke, now? Percy just gives her a smirk back and Annabeth’s not strong enough to hold out against that. She melts her glare to give him a small smile.

“My place is here. Where we all need to be.”

“What do you mean?” Travis has tears streaking down his cheeks, mingling with what could very well be Connor’s blood. Annabeth hasn’t seem him this morose since Luke. “What are we going to do?”

“Face it, Annabeth.” Malcolm looks over at her from across the room as he repeats his new mantra. “We lost.”

It’s Percy’s turn to get violent. He slams his palms down against the table. He leans over it and stares them all down. The muscle that’s developed slowly over four years expands, like a cat’s hair standing tall. He looks like he should, Annabeth thinks. A leader.

“ _ We _ didn’t lose. The gods lost. We’re still here. Kronos is gone. Maybe all that we’ve ever known is gone. Maybe the gods who have controlled us, bred us to be meat shields, led us to our deaths over and over again are gone. But we’re still here.”

“You sound like Luke,” Malcolm spits. 

“Don’t come at me, acting like Luke was entirely wrong.” Percy straightens himself. Annabeth thinks he’s standing taller than she’s ever seen him. “We all know we agreed with him to some extent. But Luke is gone. Kronos is gone. His armies have scattered. We are here. We’ll survive, like we always have. Annabeth is right.” With a glance in her direction and a brief pause out of the way, he continues. “We go back to camp. We treat our wounded and burn our dead. But we will continue. We’ll rebuild, do things right. Or are we going to admit that we needed the gods and it wasn’t the other way around?”

No one says anything. No one contradicts him. No one even murmurs in agreement. Not even Clarisse has that power of will. He paralyzes them, forcing them to pay him the attention he deserves. 

“Now, I think I told you all I met Pontus?”

As Percy launches into his explanation of his conversation, no one tells him that if he said “we’ll talk about Pontus later,” none of them would have objected. They couldn’t.

  
  


After Percy debriefed them on Pontus, a conversation Annabeth is still reeling from, a conversation that is far from done, Percy leads her away from the command tent by her hand.

“I have something to tell you.”

They sit on the same bench Annabeth was when Percy appeared. He’s sitting across from her, wearing an unfortunate shirt. One hand each keeps them connected. Annabeth sits, one foot up on the bench, arm and chin rested on her knee. He sits, facing the water, both feet on the floor. 

“Oh?”

“About… well, um, I – when I was in the Styx, getting the curse I was – what I’m trying to say is that when you were hurt, when I told you about my spot –” he keeps catching himself, stumbling over his words, unable to say what she already knows.

“Yeah, Seaweed Brain?”

“You were, I’m just trying to –”

She’s laughing now. Her stupid Seaweed Brain, who’s able to take command of a whole army and beat Titans, is afraid of telling her how he feels. Annabeth had been waiting for him to make a move for years now, but as she’s decided over and over again, she’ll have to move first.

“You’re laughing at me!”

She is, full on, fist over her mouth. This is relieving, as theraputic as anything she has ever felt. She can pretend that they’re still twelve, bonding and laughing over some stupid quest to retrieve some stupid bolt for a god who no longer exists. “No!” she lies. 

Percy doesn’t care. He’s just staring at her with his own smile stretching across his face, along with a light blush. 

“You are! I’m out here trying to – and you’re just – you’re making fun of me! You aren’t making this easy at all.”

“Seaweed Brain,” she chides. “Really, you should know better by now.”

With that, she leans forward and kisses him. His eyes are wide at first, but he slowly relaxes against her mouth.

His hand comes up to cup her face a moment too soon, however. 

“Finally!” Clarisse shouts, and the able-bodied demigods pour out from the surrounding park. “We waited long enough!”

“Wait, wait!” But this time they don’t listen to Percy, or Annabeth. Clarisse leads the way, picking up Percy and Ananbeth. They’re carried over to the River and unceremoniously dumped in.

And Annabeth could care less. She doesn’t think about how dirty the river is, she doesn’t think about the final death toll – 105, none over the age of 25 – she doesn’t think about the slowly imploding world around them. 

Annabeth just gives in to the moment and the kiss and Percy’s hands on her cheek and thigh.

It’s pretty much the best underwater kiss of all time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> QotC: Which cabin hates Percy more, Ares or Athena?
> 
> _Published 2/22/21_


	6. Percy II

_the_ boy

Percy lays out on the grass of Battery Park. He’s trying and failing to see the constellations.

Not even Zoe’s constellation is visible anymore.

The leaves rustle behind him.

Percy grips Riptide in his fist and moves to sit up. His hand plants into the ground and he begins to twist.

“It’s just me, Seaweed Brain.” And promptly relaxes. The monsters may have all suddenly vanished, but Percy doubts they are gone for good. They’ll be back. Back from where, he doesn’t know. 

“I can’t see the constellations anymore,” he greets back.

“That makes sense.”

“Because of light pollution?”

“Because the gods are gone.” Annabeth drops, criss-cross, onto the grass. She grabs a handful of blades of grass. “But yeah, also light pollution.”

“I never understood that,” Percy says after a moment of silence. 

“Understood what?”

“Why did the gods just let the pollution happen? Why did they force the rivers and things to pay them to clean up?”

Annabeth throws her handful of grass. “You heard them bicker. The pollution was a source of pride for them.”

“But if it was such an issue, why didn’t they –”

“We didn’t talk for a whole summer, when we did it was just to fight, and now you want to have a deep conversation about pollution and dead gods?”

Percy watches her fingers pick through blades of grass. She’s uprooting each weed and pilling them into organized clusters.

“Well, we kissed, didn’t we?”

That even he realizes how bad that sounds doesn’t bode well for him. The strangled mix between a snort and a cry from Annabeth tell him he’s walking himself into his own grave. A grave he dug a long time ago.

“And the last time we kissed – or really, I kissed you – you went galavanting off with two other girls because you were too much of a coward to own up to your feelings.”

“You _knew?”_

Annabeth chokes out a laugh. “Of course I knew.”

“Then why didn’t you say anything?”

With Annabeth staring at him like he’s an absolute idiot, Percy can’t keep his eyes on hers. He drops them to her lap.

“Because I thought I had made my position obvious enough.”

Percy doesn’t say anything in response, because what is there to say? That he was an idiot? The rush of adrenaline he was getting from battle has faded, taking with it any confidence he had that they could be anything more. He looks away from her, unable to stand the disappointment she exudes.

Annabeth feels him tear his eyes away and stands up. “Fine. Whatever.” Percy’s heart tears at his chest, trying to follow her as she walks away.

“Where are you going?”

“Away from you.” His heart recoils.

“Why?”

“That you just asked that dumb question should be enough of an answer.”

“What?”

“I dragged you out of Olympos when I could’ve dragged Thalia or Grover out. I left Thalia to die. To save you. I thought I was saving the warrior who stood up to Ares at 12, Atlas at 14, Kronos at 15. But it seems I just saved the 12 year old who left Echidna and the Chimera to kill those families atop the Arch.”

If Ripticle wasn't indestructible, it would have snapped in two. How _dare_ she bring that up?

"Because if that's who I saved, I fucked up. And you can go back to Rachel or ‘whoever understands you more’ and allows you to be the coward you apparently want to be.”

"I am not. _A_. _Coward._ " He seethes, having brought himself to his feet.

"If only saying it would make it true. You fled a war. If we didn’t need every soldier possible, I would have happily beheaded you myself for desertion.”

"I had the weight of the fucking world on my shoulders. I think I deserved a bit of break." He steps closer to her.

“And how many other heroes ‘take a break’ huh?”

“Akhilleus. Clarisse literally just –”

“They stayed out, not because they didn't want to fight, but because they weren't getting the αἰδώς they deserved. You were just whining that the world wasn't being fair to you."

"I tell you how I feel about you and you give this shit back to me?”

“You didn’t say anything, Jackson. You just stuttered through some meaningless words and failed to actually say anything.”

"Well, you obviously understood it enough!”

"Because I was fucking desperate. I have been waiting for you to make a move for _years_. I have given you every hint imaginable. And so I thought that maybe – just _maybe_ – you were finally manning up. Apparently I jumped the gun.”

“Well what do you want me to suy? That I love you so much I'm afraid to even admit it to myself, that I'm terrified of not being enough, of letting you down? That I wasn't scared of dying but of leaving you alone? That if I were offered the chance to bring my mother back or lose you, I'd leave her in Hades?”

She looks up at him, a lone tear forming. "Yes. Because I feel the same way. But I’ve been fighting all my life. I'm not fighting to drag you into a relationship you don't want to be in or aren't man enough for.”

"I don't know what you mean.” He's afraid this simple admission will cause her storm away, but she only pulls closer.

"When you were in that command tent today or facing down Hyperion last week, that's what I mean. I need that Percy.” She reaches out for his face. “I _want_ that Percy.”

“Annabeth, I can't be that all of the time."

"If you need to be that boy sometimes, fine, I'll be there for you. But I can’t be _with_ him. I deserve better.”

"Okay." Percy still hesitates. He's trapped between a fear of who he is and a fear of what he could be. But he conjures up the courage of facing Kronos, the confidence of looming over the map table. He wraps his arms around her low back. She seems to like it from the way her arms latch up behind his neck and her head rests against his shoulder. She lets out what sounds like a long sigh of relief. “Okay, I'll try for you.”

“That's all I'm asking for,” she whispers back, like it’s a simple request, like he's not feeling the weight of the world set back onto his shoulders, as if it had never left.

He's starting to get used to it.

Percy dreams of a coral throne and a marble statue sitting on it. The statue looks like the ones he’s seen of the gods on Olympus, with a level of detail achieved even Michaelangelo could only dream of. Instead of the grey veins running down the sculpted body, gold fills those blemishes. A red coral crown sits atop its head.

_Please. Please. Please_. 

Over and over again, someone, something chants this simple word.

The statue snaps his head up to look at Percy. It’s eyes are made out of emeralds.

_Please. Please. Please._

Blood starts dripping out of the eyes. It’s a slow drip at first, like a faucet that refuses to fully shut. But as the statue continues to stare at him, the steady drip turns into a flood. 

_Please. Please. Please._

The room fills with blood. It washes around Percy’s ankles. The tide of blood rises and rises and rises. Percy is stuck in place, powerless as the blood rises to his chin. 

_Please. Please. Please._

For the first time ever, Percy is afraid he’s going to drown. He struggles against his instincts, struggles not to breathe. 

_Please. Please. Please._

He’s forced to open his mouth eventually. Blood fills his mouth, fills his lungs. He remembers hearing once this was how crucifixion victims died.

_Please. Please. Please._

But he doesn’t drown. Percy is breathing just fine.

_Please. Please. Please._

Those emerald eyes stare back at him from across the room. Visible even amongst all of the liquid ruby. 

When Percy wakes up, the water looks red. Percy can’t tell if it’s the sun, finally set loose from the chariot, or if it’s not water but blood.

He can’t stop himself from diving head first into the water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They go from best friends to not talking to lovers and all is well? Don’t think so.
> 
> QotC: Is Percy a good cook?
> 
> _Published 2/26/21_


	7. Clarisse I, Chiron II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> αἰδώς - respect

_the daughter_

It wouldn’t be a stretch to say everyone at camp would rather be dead than deal with the dead. 

It’s been four days since Olympus fell. Four days of anarchy in America and Europe. Four days of chaos. Four days of ferrying the dead from the city to Long Island. 

Their sole chariot is useless for the task, so it falls upon the two remaining vans to make the runs. The vans aren’t exactly fit for the task either. No more than ten bodies could fit in the van while also transporting the living and their weapons. And the deads’ weapons. With all of the hastily assembled mortal checkpoints, the normally four hour round trip is about eight. It’s a terrible fucking car ride.

And Clarisse has made it four times now. For this drive, hopefully their final, they shoved twenty dead bodies in each car and left the living. She knows she could just let her younger siblings make the drive. Enough of them were old enough. 

But Clarisse knows that’s not what leaders do.

Unlike that cunt Jackson. Jackson, who dove into the sea four days ago and hasn’t returned since. 

Clarisse can tell, from the way Chase has stayed stoic and above it all, that maybe they had celebrated too early. She was stupid, in hindsight, to hope that Jackson had enough courage to give Chase the happy ending she deserved. Poor girl had been making the drive in the other van. Which was another reason Clarisse was making the trip. 

Not that she’d ever admit it.

Clarisse knows it’s petty, pretending to be all aloof and uncaring. She does feel like such a sap inside, regardless of the rumors of her ice heart. Letting all those emotions out into the open would get ugly. So she allows herself to hope for her friends’ love lives, allows herself to care for her siblings, allows herself to mourn Silena internally, privately. In the car. Because it was cathartic to drive.

Even if they were driving through National Guard checkpoint after National Guard checkpoint. Even if the Mist seemed to be rapidly refusing to work.

“Anything to declare?” the guardsman asks. 

Clarisse already has a lie prepared, because the last time when she had used ‘going on a vacation’ the cop had asked her why there were so many garbage bags. “Gardening company. Moving garbage out. My parents sent us out. Job was bigger than expected.” 

The guard buys it, even though their van says “Delphi Delivery”. Maybe the strawberry on the side gave it some leeway. Before Jackson, these vans did smell like strawberries too. Now it’s just rotting flesh. 

Clarisse feels some remorse for calling her fallen comrades ‘garbage’. Respecting the dead, yet another casualty of this war. With a wave from the guard, Clarisse is sent through the checkpoint. She checks the side view mirror for Chase. Once the girl is through the checkpoint too, Clarisse gives her a call.

“You better have used the gardening excuse too.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Chase is locked in on driving. Clarisse can tell just from her voice. 

“Tell me again why we let a first time driver do this job?”

“Because I threatened Argus with my knife.”

“Violence. Gets you everywhere these days.”

“Did you hear about Ohio and Michigan?”

“I swear to –” Clarisse hates this feeling. It’s just a stupid swear, why is she so hesitant to use it? “The world is ending and people are killing each other over college football. I mean, don’t get me wrong, go Wildcats and all, but I don’t think I’d kill someone over it. Not even at the end of the world.”

“Yeah, well, people are stupid.”

“Especially Jackson.”

“Did you call to talk about my love life, La Rue?”

“No, I called to piss on Prissy.”

“I’m sure he’d just take that lying down.”

“It looked like he was changing. After the command meeting and everything.”

“Yeah. I thought so too.”

“You need to move on.”

“If it were that easy, I’d have done it by now.”

“I know some of my siblings would love to –”

“No offense La Rue, but I’m not really into any of your siblings.”

“Yeah, well, nor am I.”

Clarisse smiles at Chase’s snort. “That’s good.”

“What do you think happened?”

“With the gods?”

“I don’t really give a fuck about the gods. Do you? I mean, it sucks that they’re gone and it’s sort of a shock, but like, fuck em. We’ll be fine.”

“So then what do you mean?”

“Prissy.”

“I already told you, we talked and –”

“No, I mean, why did he go from all confident to hiding behind his bib.”

“He was having an adrenaline rush. He came down.”

“A damn shame. I was kinda liking that version of him.”

Annabeth either laughs or cries. “So did I.”

Clarisse lets that silence linger. Nothing else to say. Prissy’s a damn fool and they both knew that. 

The gods may be gone, but Clarisse would bet her spear that the Fates are not. And if being a demigod has taught her anything, there’s no way to escape what you’re meant to be, what you’re meant to do.

While Jackson may be a cowardly fool, he’s not going to able to outrun the Fates. Clarisse won’t tell this to Chase – maybe she doesn’t have to – but Jackson will be back.

“How’s Chris’ leg?”

“Haven’t checked.” 

Yet another reason for Clarisse to take this job. She didn’t have to deal with Chris. She likes him, sure, but he’s no Silena.

“How are you dealing with Silena?”

Clarisse decides to answer with a question. “How are you dealing with Thalia?”

“Pushing it down and away.”

“Yeah.”

“I think there’s a liquor store that’s been ransacked up along here.”

Clarisse scans the road. There probably is. It’s the part of Long Island that _isn’t_ Montauk or the Hamptons. The part of Long Island that gets deserted first. What little wealth was once here is completely gone now.

“Yeah?”

“I’m 90% sure.”

“Your observational skills are dropping, Chase.”

“I was thinking about other things.”

Clarisse runs one hand through her hair. “You deserve better. Let’s go get some drinks.”

They end up stealing more alcohol than she thinks Chiron would be okay with. They’ll have to hide the stash in one of the extra garbage bags and pass it off as unassigned limbs. It’s also more than she thinks either her or Annabeth can handle on their own. 

They hadn’t even realized they were buying for three. It was just instinct.

Clarisse kicks out her cabin mates. They’ve all been luxuriating in a cabin with no dead bodies stinking up the place. Clarisse had given one of them the keys, told them to start ferrying live bodies back and forth. They had luckily run out of dead ones. 

Clarisse pours herself a glass of vodka. Chase grabs rum. Prissy’s favorite. Clarisse is caught between pitying the poor girl and laughing at the dumb bitch. 

“Cheers.” Clarisse raises her glass and Chase follows. “For the dead.”

“For the dead,” the girl repeats. 

“And fuck the living,” they say simultaneously before downing their glasses.

The vodka doesn’t even sting anymore.

* * *

_the centaur_

A week after the Battle of Manhattan, the ping pong table is less crowded now. With no one to represent Dionysos or Poseidon, with Connor dead and the Hunters leaving them, with Nico disappearing, there are only seven counselors left. 

The empty seats are full enough with dead spirits, though, and their absences fill the room as well as body bags could. 

“We have a quest to issue.”

The mummy feels the silence in the room and decides to shriek, fingernails-on-chalkboard, above them.

“I’m guessing it has something to do with that,” Annabeth asks. The poor girl has laser-focused on anything other than their missing son of Poseidon.

“It does.” Rachel’s presence doesn’t seem to be helping. Annabeth scowls at the redhead and looks away. Chiron can’t help but laugh inside. Teenagers.

“If the Oracle is out of commission, who is issuing the quest?” Will asks. No one asks what the quest is about. They’re old enough to know it doesn’t really matter. 

Besides, no one has been able to sleep for the past week. It’s obvious something needed to be done, if for everyone’s sanity, at least.

“I will be,” Chiron replies. “With the limited details and theories I have.”

Will nods. “I’ll go. I’m a son of Apollo, after all.”

“You are a new counselor, Mister Solace. You are needed at camp, with your siblings.”

“Then will any of my siblings go?”

“Are there any you’d recommend?”

“I’ll get back to you on that. They’re all so young now.”

“I know Sherman will want to go.” Clarisse looks around the table. “Does anyone here doubt he’s up to the task?”

Everyone shakes their heads. Chiron nods in agreement. Above them, a wooden table or chair is smashed against the floor. Sherman is a good fighter, and he’s developed into a capable officer. His development almost makes Chiron feel bad for letting him go.

“I’ll go too.” Everyone looks over at Travis. “I’m going to step down.”

No one mutters an apology or any condolences. Nor does anyone offer up any objections. “It’s settled, then. Sherman Yang, Travis Stoll, and one of Apollo’s children shall go –”

“What are they trying to do?” Annabeth interrupts and glares at Rachel. “What’s she got to do with anything?”

Clarisse sighs. The Oracle screeches.

“The Oracle of Delphi needs a new host,” Rachel replies. “I’m offering to be it. I’m sure you’ll be happy about that.”

“Couldn’t care less, actually.” Annabeth turns away from their staring contest. “Congratulations.”

“Annabeth, my dear, Rachel is being generous. And brave. This is a dangerous burden she’s accepting.”

“What are they questing for?” the daughter of Athena asks, ignoring the part about Rachel.

“With the Throne of Apollo destroyed and his temples in ruin, there is nothing to chain down the power of prophecy. I’m going to direct them to any leads I have on how to conquer it again.”

Annabeth pushes her tongue against her cheek. “Fine,” she says, giving her permission. No one had asked for it. And no one had realized they were waiting for it.

“Should Percy go?” Will asks. Chiron doesn’t deign interpret the moaning wail the Oracle gives off. The room flinches and turns to Will. “I mean, this is a dangerous quest and all, and so soon –”

“– Percy’s decided its best to hide in his little safe space under the sea. He’s not up for any _dangerous_ quests right now.” 

“I think you’re being unfair to him,” Rachel chides Annabeth.

“And I don’t think much about what you think.”

“He’s been under a lot of pressure –”

“We all have, mortal. I’m sure you wouldn’t understand. Or maybe you would. Is your latest mansion a bit too small? Daddy not buy you the newest car?”

“Oh, like _Miss Anna Elizabeth Chase_ is poor. It wasn’t that hard to look up your family’s money.”

“A family that disowned me.”

“At least you have one. Percy’s been alone since he was twelve.”

“Because he refused to stop being alone. It’s not our fault he runs.”

“Many heroes ran. Achilles –”

“Don’t talk about _the Iliad_ like you have any fucking clue what it means. Achilles waited until he got the respect he deserved. Percy ran because he couldn’t put his big boy pants on and grow a pair.” Annabeth stands up. Her cold eyes glance around the room. “Sherman, Travis, and whichever one of your siblings you chose,” she says first to the table and then to Will, “will go on this quest. They’ll leave immediately. 

“Even if Percy was willing to be what we need him to be, he’s not here right now.” 

The Oracle screams again, presumably for dramatic support. Annabeth drives her dagger into the table.

“And I am _fucking TIRED_ of listening to this _every. fucking. Night_!”

With a violent tug of her dagger, driving it out of the table, Annabeth storms out of the stunned room.

  
  


Perseus returns to camp on the tenth day of his absence. 

No one says a word to him. The dead have all been buried by now.

Chiron pities the boy. As much as he agrees with Annabeth’s assessment of the young hero’s state of mind – “pathetic, cowardly, entitled” – he understands why the boy is that way. Annabeth may believe, not that Chiron is about to burst her bubble, that Akhilleus sat out solely for his αἰδώς, but Chiron was there. He knew better. 

Akhilleus was scared of accepting his fate. 

This summer, Perseus was scared too.

And, like Akhilleus would, Young Perseus had accepted his fate, finally.

And then, unlike the son of Metis, Young Perseus had survived. While the gods had not.

He supposes that the boy feels like the world has lied to him. 

Chiron certainly does. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y’all enjoy! Leave kudos if you do! Comment any improvements!
> 
> QotC: What was Achilles original special gift?
> 
> _Published 3/5/21_


	8. Percy III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> κλέος - glory, fame  
> αἰδώς - respect, reputation  
> μοῖρα - fate, destiny
> 
> Just a heads up, Percy _cannot_ talk to fish in this. Or any type of marine animal. 
> 
> Yeah, I stole that from Aquaman. Sue me.
> 
> Actually please don't. I'm broke. There's nothing to take.   
> I promise.

The Ocean is cold and inviting.

Unlike before. Before when his father and brother were still alive. Before when the world hadn’t gone to shit.

Though back then, it wasn't that the Ocean was hostile. It was always a safe spot for him.

But he was a curiosity before, the second son and a mortal at that. The Seas could feel uneasy at times, like it was deciding whether or not to expel him.

Not like now.

Now, with the Seas were inviting him in with open arms, chanting

_ PER-SEH-US! PER-SEH-US! PER-SEH-US! _

over and over. It's a low chant, whispered to him like the PLEASE he kept hearing to his dreams. 

His name is not the only sound in the Sea, but it's the only one he can get close to. On the edges of the Ocean, at the end of his range of hearing, Percy can sense aquatic life. 

But when he tries to get closer, they flee.

And yet he can only hear his name chanted. It makes no sense.

Well, it does make sense. Somewhat. 

He doesn’t know.

The Ocean has accepted him, but its inhabitants are cowering in fear.

Percy feels a growing pit of anger twisting in his stomach. He hates this, hates things not making sense, hates people fearing him, hates the looming responsibility of Pontus’ cryptic words. 

He had come to the Sea seeking solace, but found only Chaos. 

He’s lost track of time, swimming around. 

He's passed the Atlantic and the Arctic without so much as a whisper of a beluga’s song. Usually when he's in the Arctic he'll go hunting with Orcas or help out some Blues. Yet even the Blues have moved out of the way. 

In the Caribbean, where he's used to wrestling barracudas or finding shy fish, even the coral polyps retreat from him

When he hits the edge of Antarctica, he's so hungry he rips into the first penguin he finds. Unlike marine mammals, penguins are not yet of the Sea. They don’t even sense him coming. It’s barely a hunt.

Once he spits out the feathers, penguins are mostly fat and blubber. It's not appetizing, so Percy channels his inner Seal. Seals don’t care if the meat is FDA Prime or grass-fed. They just want a full belly. Percy scarfs down the slimy, gelatinous fat. It reminds him of feasting on Gabe’s scraps with his mother. 

His stomach churns. How long has it been since he ate? With a sickening hurl, the vomit forces his mouth open, pouring out into the Sea, half-digested blubber mixing with stomach bile. 

Percy groans. He pushes away the water with his mind. The water has already calmed his stomach and washed out his mouth. He can’t even feel sick under water. 

The floating carcass of the penguin turns by the current; it’s beady, dead eyes stare at him. Percy flinches. He probably shouldn’t have eaten so quickly. 

With a resigned sigh, Percy bites back into the penguin. The bloody, raw meat is far tastier, even for the Seal. Parts of it pulse in his mouth, pushing back as he chews.

He’s so hungry he doesn't care. Not even plankton have presented themselves to him. 

By the time he reaches the Galapagos and Sea turtles swim away from him, Perey nearly snaps. Stopping himself, Percy tries to remember that if he does something stupidly destructive here, it’ll kill thousands of people.

So he speeds off to Midway Atoll, trying to get far enough away from civilization. 

He won’t be alone here. But his company is now the dead. 

Dead ships and dead men can't die again. Nor can they flee from him.

The burnt hulls of three great carriers stare at him, having nothing to say. 

Percy glides along the wrecks. He glides through mess halls and bunks, past other wrecks of planes in the hangars, unexploded bombs, and a gas leak.

It’s almost instinctual what he does next. Percy gathers water over the leak and slams the water and oil deep into the ground. Then he makes sure to collapse enough rock over the oil to make sure it won’t reach the surface for many thousands of years.

He had come here to snap, he remembers. Far enough from any civilization that if he caused a Tsunami it wouldn't harm anyone.

But the dead remind him of her and he’s deflated.

It’s a subtle reminder. Skeletons can't hold a candle to her lively beauty. Instead, it's what they had left behind. She was so interested in the things soldiers left behind.

Most of those little things – letters, family photographs, drawings – were lost to the salt and the Sea. Some things were half decayed, like Rising Sun flags. Some things remained. Rusting Katanas. Knife handles. Rice-stuffed animals. Family chests.

Everything that made them individuals hand vanished. Only what identified them as parts of a larger machine remained.

He wonders how many of the dead he could name and how many more he could identify by cabin.

Who would remember him as Percy Jackson if he had had siblings? 

Does he? At what point had Poseidon realized he needed backups?

Percy wishes there were backups. That they were needed.

Percy screams in the hangar.

The carrier responds, shaking above him.

Then collapses. The flight deck and bridge finally reach their goal of hitting the Earth's crust, even if they have to crush him to do so.

Perry doesn’t mind.

The physical weight feels so much better than the emotional weight.

He accepts the burden and cries.

He was so ready to die. He had accepted the choice. His death of his fellow campers. His death or the gods’ deaths.

Annabeth just makes it so damn hard and complicated. She’s always judging, always critiquing, always putting too much on him. Whenever she’s pleased with him it’s exactly when he feels most afraid. Externally he’s sure it looks like confidence. But with every word, every action he was second guessing, wracked with anxiety.

Percy lied to them, he knows that now. Lied about how scared he was of death, lied about how much of a leader he was, lied about how willing he was to carry them all.

In the depths of his mind, he finally hears it. 

A cry.

It’s a female spinner dolphin. The clicks and chirps make sense to him in a way that's unexplainable.

She needs help.

_ His _ help.

Percy musters every ounce of energy left from the penguin. He braces his hands against the hangar and pulls his legs underneath him. With a lung-draining scream and all of his strength, Percy stands up. He heaves out a breath. He puts the bridge on his back.

He can do this. He  _ is _ doing this.

The wreck slides off of him.

The cries of  _ help! _ grow louder. They’re coming from behind him.

It turns out to be two spinners. One female, swimming in circles around the juvenile trapped under a fight plane.

Percy’s approach doesn’t help at first. The female stops circling the wreck to circle Percy. The juvenile thrashes under the plane, trying to show Percy respect. Percy can hear their minds buzzing, fear transferring from their predicament to his appearance. Their minds are far easier to understand and listen to than fishes’ minds, but it doesn’t mean their frantic, unorganized thoughts don’t give him a headache.

“Hey, hey, hey! Let’s all calm down, okay?” But he doesn’t even sound calm. The plane had fallen from its original position, he can see that now. Recently, too. The juvenile is trapped because of him.

Whatever blubber he hadn’t puked originally pushes back up into his throat. His confidence fades as quickly as it had come.

His state of mind doesn’t seem to be helping the dolphins. The female makes faster circles while the juvenile trashes against the plane. How can he ask them to be calm when he’s not calm? 

So Percy takes a deep breath. He has to, if the juvenile is going to get out. He has to push back his own fear, his own guilt. 

“It’s okay,” he tries in English first, before communicating in clicks and chirps. He pets the female and glides over to the juvenile. The juvenile isn’t just trapped. He’s got a long, bleeding cut from a blown-out and rusted portion of the wing.

Percy places his hands on the juvenile’s snout. He gives off a few chirps that he thinks are soothing. It won’t be as easy as pushing the plane off. He thinks the wing might be stuck in the juvenile’s back.

Percy tries to exude stillness, hoping the dolphins get it. He’s going to have to lift the wing out slowly and carefully to get any hooked parts out without further damage. If the juvenile starts to move, it could tear a whole other wound. Luckily, his exuding of stillness seems to have worked. The female only twitches her tail back and forth. The juvenile closes his eyes. 

Calling on the currents to obey him, Percy lifts the wing up. The juvenile whimpers as Percy finds the first hook. Murmuring “shhh,” Percy works the wing back and forth with small, subtle movements. The juvenile gives a slight chirp of relieved pain as the hook slips out. 

Percy repeats for the next three hooks, and all of a sudden, the juvenile is free. 

He races out from under the wreck and to his mother. Percy smiles when the rub snouts, chirping happily at one another. 

He wonders if Annabeth would like him now.

“Come here,” he says to the juvenile, but really Percy moves to him. The two dolphins, now freed from their fear of the plane, squeak nervously with new fear of him. Percy feels his heart drop. “I won’t hurt you” he says once in English and then communicates the feeling in dolphin.

The dolphins stay for long enough. Percy is able to reach out and pet the juvenile. “You’re still hurt,” he says, more to himself than the dolphin. “Let me help you,” he says now in clicks.

Honestly, Percy is not sure  _ how _ he’s going to help. He’s never done this before but something is telling him to try. 

Closing his eyes, Percy tries to visualize the water healing the dolphin’s wound. He can feel the water swirling in and around the wound; after a few minutes it becomes clear it’s not working. 

But Percy is persistent. He just  _ knows _ this will work. 

He mutters a prayer in Ancient Greek to whatever deities are still out there. To whatever water or medical deity is listening. 

He squeezes his eyes tighter shut and breathes. He conjures up a visual of his own wounds healing, of the muscle knitting together, of the veins and arteries connecting, of the nerves turning back on. He forces the water to make his vision come true. There’s a warm feeling flowing through him, reminding him of when he drinks nectar. 

When he opens his eyes, the dolphin is good as new. 

His whole body shakes as he laughs. He feels light as the dolphins spin around him, chirping their gratitude. Percy loves this feeling. He’s smiling broader than he has in at least a year, petting and scratching the dolphins. Is this what it should feel like?

The warm, glowly feeling doesn’t recede even after he leaves the spinners. They return to their pod, which greets him happily, like every creature in the Sea wasn’t just avoiding him. 

When he laughs, Percy can hear the chanting grow louder. But it’s not as creepy. It’s happy, like when he and Annabeth had come back to camp after their first quest. 

He thinks he can get used to this feeling.

It doesn’t last long.

If Percy thought his greeting after the  _ Princess Andromeda _ was bad, this was so much worse. 

The lookout acknowledges him and blows the conch; by the time Percy’s reached the guard tower, no one has come out.

As he walks through camp, no one else acknowledges him. If they do, they’re giving him dark gazes. 

He wonders how long he’s been gone. He knew he had slept at least once, but there’s no telling time under the Sea.

Annabeth greets him at the edge of the canoe lake. Her arms are crossed. 

“You promised.”

Percy flinches. “How long was I gone?”

“Long enough.”

“Long enough for what?”

“Long enough for me to realize you were lying to me.”

“I wasn’t –” he runs his hand through his hair. “How long was I gone?”

“Ten days.”

“Annabeth I’m –”

“I’m tired of being lied to and left. Good job, Jackson.”

She turns on her heels and storms away from like.

“Good job, Jackson,” he repeats. 

_ It’s always summer, under the Sea _ .

“Good fucking job.”

After a day of trying to chase Annabeth, trying to get other campers to talk to him, Percy nearly dives back into the Sea. 

Annabeth is ignoring him again. Not that he’s actually gone up to talk to her, but every time he gets near, she turns away. It’s infuriating.

And camp, camp stares at him with eyes nearly identical to those staring at him all summer. The way they stared at him before the battle, when they had stared at him the way Annabeth wants them to stare at him. 

Back then they had viewed him as somewhat of a failed hope, he guesses. They had placed everything on him for years, ever since he came back from the Sea of Monsters and saved the camp. After the Labyrinth, he remembers feeling their near-reverent stares. They watched him walk from the battlefield to the Big House, covered in blood and gold dust and sweat and broken armor. He had felt every open-jawed-look, every deferential head bow, every whisper, every murmur more than he had felt any wound.

As his birthday approached, crept closer, Percy knew he couldn’t take it. Couldn’t take the stares, the whispers of “stronger than Heracles?”, those who skipped training with him out of fear. So he ran. 

Percy wasn’t supposed to leave camp, which he guesses was the first strike, and even once he left, there was no where to go. His mother had been dead for years, their old apartment had been renovated and sold off, the stories of the brutal murders never coming up. 

It was one of the reasons he had gone to Rachel. Rachel, who was there, Rachel who listened, Rachel who understood his fears, Rachel who didn’t shower him with comments about his “κλέος” or his “αἰδῶς” or his “μοῖρα”. She didn’t stare at him like she expected him to save the world for her, or lead an army into battle. 

Not like Annabeth does.

Percy wants to get more mad at Annabeth than he is. He wants to hate her more for forcing him to be something else. For attacking him for every little mistake. It really wasn’t his fault he was gone so long! Percy had barely noticed time passing underwater, barely noticed the week-plus that had gone by. Besides, it wasn’t like he could have said “no thanks” to the Ocean’s call. Pontus’ cryptic words lingered in his head, the throne, the vision he had of the Sea of blood. Wasn’t that all μοῖρα too?

Percy kicks the sand. He can’t hate her. If his time underwater, if his time leading the charge in Manhattan had taught him anything, it was that she was right. When the adrenaline rush hits just right, when the stares don’t weigh him down, but lift him up, Percy knows she’s right. Being a leader feels good. Being a leader feels  _ right _ . 

It’s the after, when the adrenaline rush flows off of him, that he can’t sustain the feeling. When the stares turn from stimulants to depressants, Percy deflates, curls up, and…  _ swims away _ , he thinks, staring out at the crashing waves. He feels for them. Waves have no control either. Yeah, they’re large and deadly and a force of nature, but they go because the moon tells them to go. Or because he tells them to go. 

Percy snorts. He sounds like an English teacher. 

The moon’s light is dim, even on this clear night. Like the stars. 

His fault, he supposes. His mother was his fault, now his father, all of the gods, his fault too. Some hero he is. 

Heracles his ass. 

Percy wonders if that brute is gone too. He thinks about what Heracles had done to Zoë. How could anyone be considered a hero if they were as tainted as the villains they sought to destroy? 

Percy doesn’t know. He doesn’t know anything. 

Staring at the golden sand, looking silver in the moonlight, Percy is reminded of Annabeth’s curls. 

He knows one thing, he supposes. 

If only she would talk to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> QotC: Does Percy eat fish or any type of seafood?
> 
> _Published: 3/7/21_


End file.
